


But Every Time It Rains, You're Here In My Head

by isaac richard (isaacrichard)



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: (i guess), Character Study, Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mental Health Issues, Post-Canon, Psychological Trauma, Psychology, Therapy, elliot and the aldersystem healing because thats what we all want to see, the domlene is extremely background jsyk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:48:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22108855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isaacrichard/pseuds/isaac%20richard
Summary: When Elliot wakes up from the perfect, protected bubble world his Mastermind personality had put him in, he finds himself stumbling through the darkness, searching for answers. With a little help and a lot of work, he grapples with the torch that will light his way to healing and acceptance. Thank God for Krista.
Relationships: Darlene Alderson & Elliot Alderson, Darlene Alderson/Dominique DiPierro, Elliot Alderson & Elliot Alderson, Elliot Alderson & Krista Gordon, Elliot Alderson & Mr. Robot
Comments: 54
Kudos: 199





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> titled from kate bush's cloudbursting :)
> 
> this is the first time im posting something while actively writing it, but i'm itching to get it out before winter break ends so i have incentive to finish. thisll be the longest thing ive ever posted here, and im quite proud of it, actually...  
> though this means that tags n warnings may change, edward's abuse won't ever be described in graphic detail. fuck that guy, by the way. this fic also contains terminology relating to DID, which i highly recommend you research if you're a mr. robot fan. if you're reading this more casually, though, the end notes have a little key for you.
> 
> enjoy. kudos and comments are always appreciated <3

“I don’t wanna be here,” Elliot says under his breath. The waiting area is nice enough – calm green walls, plush seats, a little play area for the younger clients – but Elliot may as well be back in prison with how on edge he feels.

“Sorry, kiddo. It’s for the best,” Mr. Robot says kindly, not taking his eyes off the muted TV news. He winds one of his scarves tighter around his neck and straightens his jacket, and then his glasses. Fidgety. He doesn’t want to be here, either.

“You don’t even like her,” the other Elliot calls from across the room. He had begun to call himself Mastermind as a distinguisher, but Elliot found it hard not to see him as a reflection of himself. It was as if someone had plopped him in a black hoodie while keeping his physical appearance unchanged. When Elliot had first woken up a few weeks prior, it had been a truly uncanny thing to get used to.

Elliot blinks. Why wouldn’t Robot like her? Had she done something to them while he was under? What did Mastermind know that he didn’t? Oh, God, it had been a mistake to come here, hadn’t it?

“It’s alright,” Mr. Robot soothes, turning to Elliot, not a trace of dishonesty on his face. He pats Elliot’s hand. “She’s a good person, and she’d never hurt us. Just not my cup of tea, is all.”

“Yeah, if ‘not your cup of tea’ means scaring her half to death,” Mastermind mutters.

Robot rolls his eyes. “I _told_ you I was just protecting us – “

“Yeah, yeah, protection this, protection that. I’m fucking sick of – “

“Of what? Huh? Me looking out for our best interests? Should I stop doing what I was made to – “

“Elliot,” someone says, cutting through the bickering. Both Robot and Mastermind whip their heads around at the voice.

“Krista,” Mastermind breathes, sounding both awed and horrified. He had told Elliot that there were a lot of feelings attached to Krista, so much so that she had appeared in their headspace. Elliot can feel them buzzing beneath his skin – gratitude, guilt, adoration – but the memories attached to them are hard to grasp. He frowns.

“Oh!” Krista says, realization dawning on her face. “I’m sorry. Krista Gordon. It’s nice to see you – meet you – again.”

She smiles but doesn’t offer to shake hands, and Elliot’s relief is palpable. He had been dreading that part of meeting someone new – the awkward niceties expected by society. Her avoidance of that put him at ease.

Did Krista even count as ‘someone new’, though? He doesn’t even want to get into that. He’s here to get _less_ crazy, not more.

“Hi,” he says softly, meeting her collar rather than her eyes. She’s wearing a nice necklace, a tiny chain with an amethyst hanging from it. The purple of the stone matches her blouse almost exactly, and the white of her trousers compliments it all well. Put togetherness… a sign of stability, or a sign of overcompensation?

Elliot fidgets with the hem of his long-sleeved polo. He’d had to go fishing for anything _he_ would even remotely want to wear – all of his clothes had been pushed aside for five or so multiples of the same black, hoodied outfit.

Krista opens the door for him, ushering them inside. Mastermind takes the lead while Mr. Robot trails behind, dragging his feet – not that Krista knows that. She hurries them right along, into her bookshelf-lined office and onto her couch.

Mastermind immediately takes a seat at the end of the couch, but Mr. Robot seems to have decided it was okay to take off for the moment. He hadn’t wanted to be present, anyway, but Elliot was hardly comfortable being with Mastermind alone. Something about him knowing more than Elliot did about his own life made him uneasy.

Elliot hesitates, but does take a seat next to Mastermind. He doesn’t have much of a choice. Krista had already sat, notepad in hand, looking at him expectantly.

“Your sister called me,” Krista says when he’s settled. “We talked, after she scheduled your appointment.”

Her voice is very soothing, not high-pitched or nasally. It doesn’t grate on Elliot’s senses, and he’s privately thankful. They’re already pin-prick sensitive, some hellish side effect of being so recently reunited with his real-world body.

“What? Why?” Mastermind asks, immediately on the defensive, but Elliot stays silent and waits for Krista to continue.

“She loves you very much,” Krista says, smiling softly. “You’re lucky to have her.”

“Yes,” Elliot murmurs. The Darlene he remembered was a flighty, twenty-three-year-old kid, running off into the big city alone because he scared her so badly. Coming back to this Darlene – a Darlene older, wiser, and wanting badly to reconnect with him – had been a blessing. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed her, what a gaping hole she had left behind.

“She told me about the past few weeks, caught me up to speed. Must have been hard for you. All of you.”

All of them? All of him, or all of the people who were involved with his super-hacker personality’s obsession with saving the world? All of the people Elliot had woken up to find were no longer alive? Angela, had it been hard for her, six feet under?

Elliot balls his hands into fists, his stubby nails managing to bite into his skin. He spares a glance over at Mastermind, who, to his credit, has the good sense to look penitent. It reminds Elliot of a kicked puppy, almost – and, Jesus Christ, is that how he looks when he’s sorry?

“Does he make you angry?” Krista asks.

Elliot looks up at her, releasing the tension in his hands. He stares. “Who?”

“Well --” Krista falters, opening her mouth and closing it again. She collects herself remarkably quickly, though. Elliot wonders how long she’s been doing this, for a skill like that to develop.

She searches his face for a second, as if determining whether he was going to lie to her. Was Mastermind a liar?

“I don’t lie. Not to Krista,” Mastermind says bitterly. “She’s probably wondering if you’re going to respond at all, or if you’ll spend the session tracing the carpet patterns with your eyes.”

Mastermind pauses, then adds, “Y’know. Like me.”

“He always called himself Elliot with me,” Krista admits, almost sheepishly. She brushes a strand of hair out of her face, showing off her purple manicure. “I’m afraid I haven’t worked extensively with clients affected by DID. You’ll have to excuse me if I slip.”

“I’m your first? Or… fifth,” Elliot says, grinning lopsidedly at her.

Krista pauses, taken back by a joke from someone she had only seen withdrawn, or stoic, or absolutely destroyed by the suffering he’d endured. She laughs, finally, and Elliot exhales, relieved he hadn’t crossed some sort of line.

Mastermind scoffs. “She’s just humoring you,” he says derisively. “It wasn’t funny.”

Mr. Robot walks in from an invisible entrance and gives Mastermind a little shove on the shoulder. “This was your idea, kid. Just because you don’t run the circus anymore doesn’t mean you get to shit in all the cages.”

“I don’t think that metaphor makes sense,” Mastermind mutters, shimmying away from Robot’s touch.

“Christ, you know what I mean. Play nice!” Mr. Robot snaps, sounding exceptionally annoyed, even for him. He turns, runs his hands along the spines of Krista’s books and picks one out, seemingly having decided to stay.

“Elliot?” Krista asks. He’s gone quiet, watching his alters argue over him.

“They fight a lot,” he says.

Mr. Robot hums in agreement. Mastermind crosses his arms and pointedly looks away, so much like petulant child.

“Your alters?” Krista asks. Elliot nods, and she scribbles something on her pad. Cliché as all hell, but he doesn’t really have a leg to stand on in that department, considering he was a crazy with imaginary friends. 

“What do they fight about?”

Elliot nibbles his bottom lip. He trusts Krista already – Mastermind was right when he said he would – but he doesn’t know how much he should share. Part of him wants to dump his whole life on this woman, as he’s almost completely positive she won’t judge. Yet another, deeper part wants peace within his system. Sharing the wrong thing will cause anger, especially with Mastermind already so bitter.

“Say what you need to say, Elliot. Forget about him. Time is money, and Krista’s chargin’,” Mr. Robot says from behind them.

“Me, mostly,” he says, feeling encouraged. Robot had that way about him. “The one you know as Elliot – as me – goes by Mastermind now. And then there’s Mr. Robot, who I think you’ve met. The two of them go at it.”

Krista’s face doesn’t change at the mention of Mr. Robot, but something behind her eyes does. Elliot cringes, immediately guilty.

“I’m so sorry about whatever he did to scare you so badly – “

“Don’t be, please,” Krista interrupts, stopping him. “I may have only had one other client with a situation similar to yours, but I have done my homework. If Mr. Robot was fronting, no action of yours could have stopped him, even if you were awake.”

Mr. Robot lets out a huffy sort of chuckle. Elliot almost turns around to glare at him, but remembers Krista believes they’re alone. Or maybe she doesn’t, based on that fighting comment. Either way, Elliot would like to look _somewhat_ sane in front of the therapist, if only to save a shard of his shattered dignity.

Krista shifts in her seat, taking a second to regain her composure. “I’d like to get to know you, Elliot, primarily. I’m sure you share many experiences with, uh – “

“Mastermind,” Elliot supplies.

“Mastermind, yes,” Krista says. “But I think it would be beneficial to speak with the other alters as well. Form a mutual trust with all of you, if you’re alright with that.”

Mastermind perks up, obviously eager for a chance to front again. Elliot bites down hard enough on his lip that he tastes blood. The idea of going back – to his plastic, happy prison world or wherever else Mastermind could send him – makes rabbity panic spring up in his stomach.

He had just started to become readjusted to reality, to having a body that could hunger and hurt, that the idea of returning to numbness scares the living shit out of him.

Krista, being good at her job, senses Elliot’s fear.

“I apologize,” she says, voice like velvet. “It was only an idea, maybe to curb the fighting. It would be completely voluntary and in a controlled setting. We don’t ever have to if you don’t want to.”

“Not now,” Elliot whispers, his heart still fluttering in his chest. He gently releases the couch cushion he’d been clutching, flexes his hands. “Not yet.”

“Completely understandable,” Krista says, nodding. She scribbles something else in her notes, and Mastermind slumps back down in his seat. She hums to herself, reading over her work, and looks up at Elliot.

“I’d like to establish a base, then,” she says. “Elli – sorry, _Mastermind_ wasn’t the best at sharing memories, through no fault of his own, so we mostly discussed his present-day problems. His issues with society, with his job, things like that.”

Mastermind exhales dramatically at the mention of his “issues”, but otherwise stays silent. Mr. Robot had abandoned the book and settled himself between the crook of the wall and the doorframe, looking like the world’s scrappiest bouncer.

“With you, however,” Krista continues. “We have the opportunity to sort through the timeline of your life. We can pinpoint the wheres and the whens and the whys and connect causes to effects. Then we can work through them, together.”

She pauses to smile warmly at him. “It’ll take time, but most good things do. Are you okay with this?”

“She’s going to make you remember Dad,” Mastermind hisses. “Trust me, dude. You don’t fucking want that.”

But Elliot already remembered, at least a little. He knew their Dad was a scumbag, that he did bad things and kept them from people, though he remembered loving his father regardless. The true memories were hidden away, made blurry by those other parts of him.

It was probably terrible, to be held under lock and key that way, but he was tired of living in the dark. Krista could shed some light. He slowly gives her a nod.

“Alright,” Krista says. “You can tell me if you need to stop at any time, or if we should try something different. This is your time, Elliot. Don’t be afraid to ask for what you need.”

“Okay,” Elliot says softly, petting the fibers of the couch against the grain. It calmed him, and if he was ever going to need calm, it was now.

“Okay,” Krista replies. “I suppose we should start with the obvious. How much do you remember from the last year? Were you awake for any of it?”

Elliot fidgets again, dearly wishing he had something to focus on other than Krista’s calm, collected face. He glances around the room – Mastermind, Robot, Krista, and the art pieces on her walls. Nothing interesting enough to capture his attention, to take him out of the moment.

“I, uh. No, not much,” he starts. “Not awake for much, I mean. Bits and pieces – I remember being in prison.”

“That was hard for you, being incarcerated for a crime you didn’t commit?”

Elliot shakes his head. If you were to ask him, he would swear he could feel the fluid in his brain sloshing around.

“Not like that – I didn’t feel guilty, or anything. I just remember being there, being physically behind bars. I remember this girl, this pyro girl –“

“Hot Carla,” Mastermind provides. “She was cool.”

“- and this guy who helped us. Kept us safe.”

Krista nods, taps her pen against the tip of her manicure. “What else?”

“Well,” Elliot says, returning to pulling at the hem of his shirt. Krista’s eyes flicker down, watching the movement. “When I woke up in the hospital, I sort of remembered everything. Almost, I mean.”

Krista stops, surprised. She quickly jots something down. “How so?”

“It’s like – I dunno. Like I was there, but none of it happened to me. Like I was a witness to all these things, standing off to the side. But I don’t feel anything about it. Fuck, I –“

Elliot stammers, scrubs a hand through his hair. It’s long enough now that it’s starting to curl at the ends, and the buzzed sides are coming in soft and new. He barks out a nervous laugh, painfully aware of how much he sounds like an old-school asylum patient.

“I fucking remember watching myself get shot, and I feel nothing,” he says, his voice quivering. “No fear, no pain, no panic. Nothing.”

“And worse than that,” he continues. “Is that not all of it is there. _Almost._ Almost everything, but some of its foggy, missing enough detail that I can’t make sense of it. I missed a whole year of my life, and they don’t even have the decency to give it all back.”

He laughs again, feeling a little hysterical. When he first was released from the hospital, he had felt fine, if a little fuzzy. Now, though, the harsh reality is hitting him like bullet to the head. Which, coincidentally, he also remembers Mr. Robot shooting at Mastermind.

“I lost my job, apparently? I had a girlfriend, who was killed? I knew the CTO of E Corp? All this shit – crazy fucking shit – and it happened to me, but not really me? I – I –“ 

Elliot begins to hyperventilate, clutching at his chest like he couldn’t breathe. Mr. Robot materializes by his side in an instant, his hand gently poised over Elliot’s back, eyebrows knitted together in concern. He throws a heated glare at Krista.

Krista leans forward in her seat, the calm never leaving her features.

“Elliot,” she says, in the kind of tone that would imply they were chatting about the weather. “Listen to me. You’re going to inhale for four seconds, hold the breath for seven seconds, and exhale for eight seconds. Ready?”

Elliot somehow manages to throw a nod in there. The room is spinning, and he’s clutching the arm of the couch like a God-given lifeline.

“Okay. Deep breath in. One. Two. Three. Four….”

Elliot sucks in a breath, raspy and hot. He’s suddenly hyperaware that he should probably quit smoking.

“Good, now hold it. Seven seconds. One. Two. Three…”

Elliot holds his breath.

“You’re doing great,” Krista praises gently. “Now exhale.”

The entire session had been gentle, Elliot realizes. He wants to be mad that she’s treating him like he’s made of glass, but honestly, this panic attack more than proved he was fragile.

Krista finishes counting through the eight seconds and sits back in her seat. Elliot’s breath is still coming in short, panicky bursts, but the room has stopping spinning. His ears ring faintly, and his grip on the couch’s arm goes slack. Mr. Robot is hovering. Elliot can feel him shift between concern for Elliot and anger at Krista. Mastermind watches them out of the corner of his eye.

“Better?” Krista asks, and there’s a second’s pause before Elliot bursts into tears.

“Fucking enough!” Mr. Robot spits, and it takes Elliot a moment to realize it comes from his own mouth.

Someone else’s hands wipe the tears from his cheeks, and he feels his body stand, though he isn’t the one controlling it. It’s odd, like dreaming – knowing your body is in one place while you’re in another. He doesn’t try to stop it, though, and the control slips easily through his fingers. He’s drained, and Robot is offering a tantalizing rest.

“Mr. Robot,” Krista says, recognizing the shift immediately. “I’m sorry if that was too much for Elliot – “

“Yeah, it was too fucking much! What do you think, lady?” Mr. Robot raves, waving his arms around wildly. His eyes are frantic, frenzied in a way Elliot’s never got. He’s a little besides himself.

“The kid _just_ woke up, and you’re already asking him to wrap his head around all this shit?” Robot asks incredulously. “Goddamnit, I knew it was too soon! I just fucking knew it, and yet I encouraged him…”

“Mr. Robot, please sit down,” Krista says unflinchingly. “I understand you’re feeling threatened, but what does the anger help? We can easily backtrack and take a different route for Elliot’s treatment.”

“Sit down, man,” Mastermind says. It’s his first words in a long while, and his tone is dangerous. “You don’t have to blow up on her. And I won’t let you scare her again.”

Elliot is floating somewhere in between them, awake and aware but pushed aside, riding passenger. He can hear everything, and definitely doesn’t miss that comment. What would Mastermind do to keep Robot from Krista?

“Fuck you,” Mr. Robot says to Krista, an accusing finger cutting through the air. “Even if the kid’s not, _I’m_ shrink-proof, remember? So cut the shit.”

“And fuck you, too,” he says to Mastermind, pointing at what, to Krista, looks like empty air. She raises her brows at him.

“I’m out,” Mr. Robot says, adjusting his cap resolutely. “If Elliot wants to come back next week, so be it, but this is too much too soon. Session terminated.”

Mr. Robot leaves, taking Elliot and Mastermind with him. Krista watches them go, a plea to stay unsung on her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> basic dissociative identity disorder terminology:
> 
> host - the body that holds the alters, or the first personality within a system. the host was born the host and usually is referred to by the body's name. contrary popular belief, the host is also an alter, and referring to the host as the "real" personality is not only false but disrespectful  
> system - refers to all the alters a person with DID hosts  
> alter(s) - the different personalities within a system, an "alter"nate state of consciousness. can have their own gender, age, and sexual orientation as well as mannerisms and speech patterns  
> switching/taking over - when an alter takes control of the body, either by force or by choice from the host.  
> often due to stressful situations that the host can't handle, but not always  
> fronting - refers to an alter having control of the body  
> headspace - the mental, subconscious area where the alters exist while not fronting. shown as the conference room/theatre in Mr Robot
> 
> if you'd like to learn more, dissociaDID on youtube is a great resource! <33


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise i had this mostly pre-written before i posted ch 1 and im not some kind of writing god. and yes, before you ask, the "tactile fidgeting" is stimming! we stan. 
> 
> enjoy <33

“How have you been?” Krista asks, softly shutting her office door. Today’s outfit is a forest-green skirt and a black, fitted top with green accent around the sleeves. Her hair isn’t straightened, but naturally curly. She’s wearing a low heel, and when she crosses her legs to sit, Elliot can see an ankle bracelet that hadn’t been there before. A birthday present, maybe. An anniversary gift. A just-because. A token of someone’s love.

She’s deliberately given him a generic conversation opener, but Elliot bites anyway. It’s what he’s here for, isn’t it? An insurance-covered illusion of choice?

“Fine,” he says. It’s not exactly the truth, but it’s close enough.

“Define ‘fine’,” Krista says, smiling. She flips her legal pad open, and Elliot wonders vaguely about how heavily the sale of legal pads depends on lunatics like him.

“I don’t know,” Elliot says, rubbing an uncomfortable hand across his neck. “Just… fine.” 

Krista waits patiently for him to continue, to elaborate. He doesn’t, opting instead to chew at the inside of his cheek. They sit in silence for a long moment, Elliot’s eyes darting between Krista and the floor, before Krista decides to take a different approach.

“I noticed your sister scheduled your appointment again,” she says.

“Yeah,” Elliot says. He focuses on his shoes, – dingy white Reeboks, old favorites he’d recently re-discovered – as an embarrassed heat blooms in his chest. “I don’t like the phone.”

“Phone conversations, do you mean?”

“Yeah,” Elliot says quietly. He wrings his hands, not meeting her eyes.

Krista recognizes Elliot’s hesitancy to engage, likely due to the fact that Mr. Robot stormed them out only thirty minutes into the last session. She steels her expression, so Elliot won’t see her mild frustration – he had done so well until he got panicked! Oh, well. This session will just take a lot more prompting.

“How do you spend your time since waking up? Mastermind held a few jobs, but neither AllSafe nor E Corp exist anymore. Are you looking for work?” Krista asks, trying to draw out a thread of conversation, even if it was a work-around of his harder issues.

Elliot ducks his head. His time? He didn’t have hobbies, really. He liked to draw, and of course fuck around on the computer, but nothing substantial filled his days. He drifted through them, mostly unattached, except for when Darlene would drag him outside for food or fresh air.

“I don’t – I don’t do much. I haven’t been looking for work,” he says. “I have cash put away from AllSafe, and E Corp handed out pretty good packages after they dissolved. And of course, Darlene won’t take any rent money.”

“Rent money?” Krista asks.

“Oh – yeah,” Elliot absently taps his forehead, as if the motion would help him with recall. “Darlene was worried I’d go away again, so she insisted I move in with her. I fought her a little, but my place was a shithole, anyway. We sold our apartments and got a bigger one not long after I woke up.”

He smiles a fond little smile. “It’s nice. Clean, too. I have a real bed, with a frame,” he says. “We somehow found a place with two bathrooms that didn’t drain both our savings accounts.” Krista laughs at that, light and pleasant. 

“Do you have roommates?” Krista asks. This was a good track to start with, to remind Elliot he has a functioning life here, in the present.

“No,” Elliot says. “I couldn’t, it’d make me paranoid. It’s just me and her, and probably her girlfriend when she comes home next month. I don’t know her well, but the way Darlene talks about her… I’ll be happy to share the space.”

“It’s good to hear you have support,” Krista says. “But you said you don’t do much. Why not?”

Elliot sighs, scrubs a hand across his face. He shouldn’t have expected her to let that one slide. “I just – I don’t have anything _to_ do. I don’t work. I don’t hack anymore. I’ve never been a socialite, or anything. I just sort of… exist.”

“I’ll set you up with some adult hobby lists,” Krista says. “It’s important to find something to spend time doing, something you can put effort into and be proud of, especially since you’re no longer working. It can be incredibly easy to become depressed when you feel you lack purpose.”

“Adult hobby lists,” Elliot echoes in a deadpan. That’s about the lamest a sentence can get.

“They’re not terrible,” Krista says, grinning. “You choose what appeals to you. Just suggestions, really, to help you find what you like.”

“Maybe,” Elliot says. “Too bad you can’t get motivation from a list.”

Krista hums agreeably at that. “Have you given medication any thought?” she asks. “Mastermind tried Zoloft at one point, but that’s a – excuse my French, here – shitty excuse for medication. I didn’t feel right prescribing it, but he asked for an antidepressant, and Zoloft is one we always try first.”

“Probably thought it was like a happy pill, right? Make him normal?”

“Something like that, I imagine,” Krista sighs. “What about you, though? Have you thought about it?”

“They had me on antipsychotics years ago,” he says. “The dose wasn’t right, or something, and they didn’t work like they were supposed to. Mr. Robot got pissed and ended up flushing them, and I didn’t again try after that.”

“Are you open to trying now, since Mr. Robot might be more agreeable?”

“I’m not sure,” Elliot says, hesitancy drawing his brows together. He brings his ring finger to his mouth and gnaws at a hangnail. “Do you think I should?”

Krista folds her hands over her legal pad. “I think treatment often works best when it’s a combined effort of therapy and medication,” she says. “I think, while you haven’t commented on it explicitly, you’re suffering from depression as symptom of DID. Your lack of motivation, hesitancy to leave the house, and feeling like you only ‘exist’ and aren’t actively participating in your own life all point in that direction.”

Elliot looks at her with wide eyes. She’d seen right through him. He’d known his problems went deeper than cut and dry DID, but since that was his biggest issue, he’d thought it a waste of time to focus on anything else. Clearly, Krista didn’t feel the same way.

“Unfortunately, there’s no medication built specifically for DID,” Krista says. “And, as I’m sure you know, it can easily become a tangle of symptoms, making other things harder to spot. But to answer your question? I do think medication would be good for you, Elliot. Coming at it from two angles would be better than one.”

Elliot shakes his head. “I’m really crazy, aren’t I?” he asks, so low that Krista almost doesn’t catch it.

“Elliot,” she says, firmly enough that it makes him snap his head up to look at her. “Do you know I receive therapy?”

Elliot slowly blinks at her but says nothing. He’s clenching and unclenching his hands – not like he’s angry, but like he’s self-soothing.

“Not only is it mandatory for therapists to have their own therapists, but I went for a long time before I was certified. Seeking treatment doesn’t make you crazy, honey,” she says, not able to stop a term of endearment from slipping in there. Elliot was still so young at the end of the day, and he often reminded her of her teenaged nieces and nephews.

“Okay,” Elliot says, still in that low, soft tone. “What do we do?”

“Well, there’s about a million medications out there,” Krista says. She gets up and turns from Elliot, retrieving a manilla folder from one of her drawers. “SSRIs, SNRIs, MAOIs, tricyclics… and that’s just antidepressants.”

Elliot nods, the different names swirling in his head. Krista pulls a blue sheet of copy paper from the folder and hands it to Elliot. It’s titled _Which Medication is Right for You?_ in an ugly font. Under the title is a little clipart pill bottle.

Krista returns to her seat. “Many of them do similar things but are attached to different brands. That list has the similar ones grouped together under their generic names, with a description of what they can do for you. You look it over and bring it back next week, and I can fill out some scripts for you.”

“So, we… take a guess and see what happens?”

Krista frowns. “I’d say more of a hypothesis based on your symptoms. Then we can increase the dose or swap the medication based on how it makes you feel.”

“Okay. I’ll look them over,” Elliot says. He neatly folds up the blue paper and sticks it in his pocket.

The natural flow of conversation ebbs off there, and Elliot takes to picking at his cuticles. He likes to consider himself well-groomed, for the most part, and takes what little pride he can in keeping himself neat. His nails, however, are a wreck. Who knew biting, picking and scratching behaviors didn’t make for an attractive manicure?

The work-around has just taken them in a circle, Krista concedes to herself. Might as well jump in, then.

“How has Mr. Robot been?” she asks, poising her pen to the paper. Elliot blinks up at her with his big, innocent-looking eyes. A calf’s eyes, if they were brown and not a swampy gray.

“Mr. Robot?” he drawls slowly, digesting the question. Without looking away, he resumes picking at his nails.

“Yes. He was quite upset during the last session. Do you remember that?”

“Uh-huh,” Elliot says. “I was there – he took over, but he didn’t shut me down. And he’s been pissy. But that’s not news.”

“He felt like we were going too quickly,” Krista says. “Do you agree with that?”

Elliot shakes his head. “I’m going to react negatively no matter when we do it. Today, tomorrow, next month – it doesn’t matter. It hurts to remember, so why not get it over with?”

“Sometimes waiting can be beneficial, to process what has happened to us before we share it,” Krista says. “But I do agree with you in this case. Should we try again, with sorting through a cohesive timeline?”

“Yeah,” Elliot says, though he can feel his heartbeat pick up a little. He knows there’s some sinister, lurking reason he can’t put all the pieces together. But he’s determined, and frankly kind of jealous the other alters knew things he didn’t. It was his life, after all. Shouldn’t he get to live it in full, good parts and bad?

“Wonderful,” Krista says, sounding completely genuine. Elliot gives her a wobbly smile. “You know that we can stop at any time. This isn’t any kind of permanent treatment, not something we have to stick to no matter what. Voice any concerns you have, whenever you have them. Okay?”

“Sure,” he agrees. The energy in the room has changed, quickly growing somber. Elliot swallows, resting a hand over the nervous energy building in his gut.

“Good,” Krista encourages. “Now, Elliot, can you tell me about the first time you remember being aware of an alter? Whether it be through losing time, or speaking with them, or anything out of the ordinary that strikes you. Think back as far as you can, please.”

_“Stay away from me!” Elliot yells, swinging his steel bat back and forth in front of him. “I fucking mean it! Stay away!”_

_Elliot had never cursed before. The swear word tastes hot and forbidden on his tongue, but it makes his dad pause his pursuit, and that’s all that matters. Tears stream down Elliot’s cheeks, pooling under his chin, but he’s not upset. He’s scared, and more than that, he’s angry – livid, alight with fury, with hatred. A fire burns beneath his skin, flames engulfing every bone in his body._

_“Elliot, please,” his dad tries, his voice all soft and cloyingly sweet. Elliot knows that voice. He wants to trust that voice more than anything, but it’s a dirty, disgusting lie. “Please put the bat down.”_

_His dad takes a step forward, arms outstretched, and Elliot screams like an animal in anguish. He whips the bat around wildly in his little hands. The sounds come from deep inside his belly, wracking his slight frame, and he shakes. Not like a leaf, but like an earthquake._

_From inside his bedroom closet, Darlene whimpers. Elliot can’t see her but is certain she’s clutching her baby doll to her chest, fearfully burying her small face into its head. The thought alone makes him even angrier._

_“Elliot,” his dad says softly. His hands are still open and waiting, calling for Elliot to sink into them as he had so many times before. “You’re being a very bad boy. Why don’t you put it down so we can talk?”_

_Talk is cheap, Elliot had heard once. He isn’t sure what that means, exactly, other than he has no intention of talking this out with his dad. Talk means his dad wins, and Elliot can’t stand the thought of losing to him again. Just this once, he’s nabbed the control. He’s going to triumph._

_“I told you to stay the fuck away from me!” Elliot shrieks as his dad tries to creep closer._

_Elliot’s eyes dart around the room, and, without stopping to think, he swings the bat backwards. It connects hard with his bedside lamp, and the lamp shatters, exploding into porcelain shards. His dad takes a surprised, knee-jerk step away. He clearly hadn’t expected Elliot to actually use the bat._

_Elliot grins, tasting the sweet nectar of momentary victory. He yearns to truly and completely win, though, so he can’t stop now. He swings the bat up over his head and into the wall, making a satisfying gash that exposes white plaster underneath the paint. He steps over to his beloved computer, the one he had built from scratch with parts from his father’s store, and that, too, goes the way of the lamp._

_“Elliot –!” his dad pleads, but Elliot isn’t listening, gone to the joy of having the upper hand. Metal pieces stick to his face, cover his floor, but it’s not enough. He needs a grand finale, something to secure him as the champion._

_Soft winter sunshine filters in through the window, warming the glass. Elliot and his dad seem to have the same thought at the same time, and his dad springs forward to block his path. But Edward Alderson is dying of cancer, and Elliot is a slim, fast little boy. He ducks easily under his father’s arm and faces the window, taking in the glorious view of the winter wonderland below._

_He swings his bat for a final time, shattering the window in a beautiful symphony of crashes. He tosses his bat aside and clambers onto the sill. The outside chill bites at his nose, and the glass left behind in the frame draws blood from his palms. It doesn’t matter. He’s the king of the world from here._

_“Elliot – Elliot please – think about what you’re doing – Jesus Christ, Elliot, get down, please get down -!”_

_Elliot doesn’t get down. He stands in the frame, spreads his arms, and leaps. The fall is short, but wonderful. Exhilarating. He never wants it to end, wants to float through the air forever and ever –_

_Hitting the Earth steals all the air from his lungs. He gasps like a fish out of water, pulling in as much oxygen as he can in quick, shallow breaths. There’s a searing pain in his arm, like nothing he’s ever felt, but the rest of him is ice cold, like the ground beneath him. His vision swims in twos and fours, and if he could sit up, he would probably vomit._

_“You did good, kiddo,” someone says in his ear. “Easy, now. Don’t try to move.”_

_Elliot can’t see who it is– his vision is swimming – but it sounds like his dad, almost. Almost, but not quite, in a way Elliot couldn’t describe even if he hadn’t just jumped out a window._

_“Elliot, oh my God, oh my God!” his mother’s voice, running outside. Her heels clack on the pavement, and then muffle on the frozen lawn._

_“It was an accident!” his father’s voice, close behind. They’re on top of him now, he can feel their hot breath against his cold skin._

_“Don’t you fucking touch him,” the unknown voice growls, low and dangerous, as his father begins to ease him out of the snow. And then, finally, Elliot passes out._

“The voice was Mr. Robot,” Krista summarizes. She quickly finishes putting down a synopsis of the memory on her legal pad. “That was the first time you were aware of him?”

“Big Elliot’s not here. Got scared. Hadta hide.”

Krista looks up from her paper. Moments ago, Elliot had been recounting the story, skittish, but mostly stable. Now, he was looking around the room wonderingly, as if he had never seen it before. Krista, though surprised, does what she does best, and approaches the situation with caution and care. She reminds herself that Elliot’s personality is fractured, and though this is him, it also is not.

“You’re not Elliot?” she asks the new alter carefully. It occurs to her that she has never asked Elliot how many of his personalities he was aware of. She jots that down for later.

“Yeah, I am,” he says, pouting slightly. “I’m Elliot, too.”

Krista nods. They were all Elliot, really. “And how old are you, Elliot?”

“Eight,” he says.

The same age Elliot was in his story. The memory had drawn the alter out, so the Elliot who had remembered it could rest. Luckily, Krista was also certified in child psychology.

“Do you know where you are right now, Elliot?” Krista asks, her voice shifting into the tone she used with children. First and foremost, he needed to know he was in a safe environment.

“Doctor’s office,” he replies.

Though she knew, logically, that Elliot’s body had remained unchanged, the switch seemed remarkably physical. He’s curled up smaller in his seat, tapping the heels of his shoes against the bottom of the couch, the way a child would swing their feet if they couldn’t yet touch the ground. He peers at her with curious, bright eyes that, for the moment, have released the weight of the world.

“Sort of,” Krista says. She can’t help but smile. “The talking kind of doctor. Do you know who I am?”

“You’re Krista,” the younger Elliot says. “We like you, ‘cause you help. ‘Cept for Mr. Robot, but he’s not always nice to people.”

Krista smiles again, flattered that this alter had a positive opinion of her. She glances at her clock – there was still more than twenty-five minutes left in the session, but it was clear they weren’t going to make any more progress today if adult Elliot had fled. She wouldn’t ask the child alter to try; that wouldn’t be fair to anyone.

“He doesn’t like the remembering,” Little Elliot says, in that blunt way kids talk. “Makes him feel bad. Then he has to go away.”

“I know,” Krista says, not able to stop a little bit of sadness from seeping into her voice. Elliot had experienced an immense amount of grief and trial and, through it all, he had wanted nothing more than to help people. The Mastermind’s grandiose ideas of saving the world were rooted in the helplessness the system faced as a child, and not wanting that fate for anyone else. It broke her heart.

“I’m sorry it makes him feel so bad. But he – and you, and Mr. Robot – will be better for it in the long run. I can promise you that.”

“And Mama, too?” Elliot wants to know.

Krista blinks. The host Elliot’s mother had passed away not long ago, so he couldn’t be referring to her. She puts _mother alter ?_ down in her notes, but resolves to set that aside. She can’t let herself get overwhelmed with all the new things emerging at once, after all. Being the anchor to the swaying ship was her job, her duty to Elliot. All of Elliot.

“Her too,” Krista says, knowing a positive, if vague, answer is the best bet. “Do you have anything else you’d like to tell me, about you or Elliot or Mr. Robot?”

The younger Elliot gently chews at his fingers, thinking. Krista had noticed the tactile fidgeting among all alters. Even Mr. Robot was prone to adjust his sitting position frequently or get uncomfortable when he wasn’t allowed to move freely. It wasn’t a bad thing, just an interesting thing – a tether throughout the system.

“Mr. Robot’s cranky, but he’s sorry he scared you,” the younger Elliot says.

This again. Mr. Robot really had given her reason to be alarmed, to the point she was almost certain she wouldn’t be able to take Elliot as a client again. Now, though, his motivations were clear – and though she wasn’t completely sure he wouldn’t use any means necessary to keep Elliot’s system safe, she was sure one of the other personalities would intervene first. There were things the Mastermind had to hear before he was ready, and Mr. Robot was only trying to protect him from the pain. He had been doing his job, same as her. She respected that.

“The big Elliot told me that, too,” Krista says. “I’ll have to talk to Mr. Robot about it when I see him again.”

Satisfied with that, little Elliot nods. Then he scrunches up his face hard, like he’s trying to remember the most ancient of histories.

“Dunno what else,” he says finally. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Krista says kindly.

There’s a beat of silence, wherein Elliot seems to be getting increasingly nervous. His eyes dart around like the older Elliot’s might, but it was as if he was waiting for monsters to jump out and grab him, rather than scanning the location for weaknesses. He obviously wasn’t used to fronting, and the world outside Elliot’s headspace was foreboding.

“Hey,” Krista says gently. Little Elliot’s eyes flick back to her, stricken like a deer in the headlights. “Do you ever play games?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Mr. Robot ‘n me play chess sometimes. He lets me win, ‘cause I’m not so good, yet.”

“Well, I don’t have chess,” Krista says. The idea of Mr. Robot letting the child alter win makes her smile. “But I do have Uno. Would you like to play with me?”

“Okay,” he says softly. “Me ‘n Darlene play Uno.”

“Do you win?” Krista asks, kneeling down to retrieve the plastic bucket of toys and games she kept for her younger clients. She fishes Uno out of the bucket and places it on the table between them, scooting her chair in to reach.

“Darlene’s too little to play right,” Little Elliot says. “So we just play for fun. No winners.”

“That’s very nice of you,” Krista says. She messily shuffles the cards, having never mastered that particular skill. “I bet you’re a good big brother.”

“Uh-huh,” Elliot says. He gingerly takes the deck Krista holds out to him.

They play several rounds of Uno before the adult Elliot returns. He blinks blearily, like someone disturbed from a deep sleep, and stares at the colorful cards in his hand like they were alien technology.

“Welcome back,” Krista says. She and his child alter had played much longer than Elliot’s hour, and it was nearly time for her to close up and go home. She didn’t mind, and wasn’t going to mention it, lest she make Elliot feel guilty. A phone call home to say she was going to be late was more than worth making sure Elliot’s child-self stayed safe until the adult persona returned.

“I – sorry,” Elliot says. His voice is different, but Krista couldn’t exactly pinpoint how. Mature, maybe? He gingerly lays his deck on the table, like it might explode on him. “Mr. Robot was with me – there was no one else to take over –“

“It’s okay, Elliot,” Krista says. “Better with me than anyone else.”

Elliot nods roughly, but he doesn’t look very convinced.

“I promise it’s alright,” she presses. It truly was, and Elliot had an extremely guilty conscience already. “He was very pleasant, actually.”

“He doesn’t front much,” Elliot says. “When I’m like, crazy sad he’ll show up, to take some of it away. But not to take over.”

“Co-fronting, that’s called,” Krista replies. “Very common among the child alters.”

“Oh,” he says. “Anyway, thanks. For, you know, keeping him company. He hates being alone.”

“It really wasn’t a problem,” she says. Maybe if she says it enough, he’ll believe it. “I enjoy a good game of Uno.”

Elliot gives her a strange half-smile, like that was an odd thing to say. He glances at his phone. “I guess I better get going,” he says. “Thank you again, Krista. For real.”

“You’re welcome, Elliot,” she says. “Oh, and here.” She gets up and pulls out another paper from her drawer, green this time. She holds it out to him.

“Your adult hobby lists,” she says with a grin. Elliot can’t suppress his groan.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who's supported me so far!! all ur kudos and comments make my heart so warm :) pls enjoy <3
> 
> ps robot is so goddamn fun to write

The next week, Elliot comes barreling into her office, the light dusting of snow on his shoulders not even given enough time to melt. It’s not quite his appointment time yet, and besides that, it’s bad etiquette to bypass the waiting room. Krista looks up from her paperwork.

“Mr. Robot,” she says evenly.

“How the _hell_ do you do that?” he asks, frozen in the doorway, his body squared up and rigid like the dastardly foe in a Clint Eastwood movie. “Even Darlene can’t always tell.”

“I’ve been doing this for a long time,” Krista explains vaguely. There were also several obvious tells between Elliot and Mr. Robot, if you knew what to look for. Large differences in their body language and speech patterns. Mr. Robot also tended to make consistent eye contact, but she leaves that unsaid, for fear of giving him ways to hide.

Krista rises from her desk. “Let’s sit,” she says, moving over to the couch. She settles herself in her chair and removes her notepad from beneath it.

Mr. Robot doesn’t move. “Aren’t I interrupting your therapist shit?” he asks.

Krista turns back around to him, peering in his narrowed eyes. “If you thought you’d be interrupting, you wouldn’t be here,” she says calmly. “And you are my _‘therapist shit’_ , if we’re putting it that way.”

“You mean, Elliot is,” Mr. Robot says sourly. He crosses his arms over his chest, his heavy winter coat puffing out between his elbows. It was good to see that, since the host reemerged, they weren’t freezing away in that thin hoodie anymore.

Krista doesn’t respond. She knows by now that he’s just looking for an argument, a way to one-up her, and she won’t give him the satisfaction of negative attention. She assumes Mr. Robot just doesn’t like the thought that if Elliot’s in treatment, he is too.

After several seconds of tense silence, Mr. Robot gives in, peeling out of his coat and dropping himself onto Krista’s couch. Krista watches him with interest – she had expected much more of a fight than that.

“God, I need a smoke,” he mutters, sitting in an egregiously masculine way, leaning forward on spread legs. He adjusts his cap, which, to Krista, looks like Elliot pulling at the ends of his hair.

“Elliot’s been trying to quit and, I swear to Christ, it’s worse than Chinese water torture.”

Krista mentally notes that Mr. Robot likes the sound of his own voice, and therefore needs less conversational prompting than Elliot. She’s surprised how little she sees of him, actually, considering his therapy would revolve around him airing out his ideas.

“Nicotine gum, nicotine patches… I even tried Darlene’s stupid fruity vape,” he says, sighing. “Nothing hits like a good old Marlboro, that’s for fuckin’ sure.” 

“But you’re respecting Elliot’s decision, even when he’s not around to stop you,” Krista says. “That’s a far cry from sneaking around behind his back for your own purposes.”

Mr. Robot scoffs. “He told you about that? Shit. That wasn’t even him, that was my other dumbass kid.”

“The Mastermind,” Krista clarifies. 

“Yeah,” Mr. Robot says. “He couldn’t nut up and do what had to be done, and _someone_ had to keep us afloat.”

“The sustainability of the system is very important to you,” she says.

“Don’t do that,” Mr. Robot says indignantly. “That – that head-shrink-y, state-the-obvious bullshit. We both know I serve a very specific purpose. I was made for a reason, and I don’t intend to fuck it up.”

“Is that why you’re here today, instead of Elliot?” she asks. “You’re protecting him from something?”

Mr. Robot stops dead in his tracks. He hadn’t been expecting that one. He tightly clasps his hands together against his stomach.

“No,” Mr. Robot says, just a touch too quickly. “I woke up on the train in Elliot’s place, and I didn’t want to waste the trip. Just doing my part for the environment, giving my own little gift to humanity. You’re welcome.”

Krista hums noncommittally. She doesn’t believe that for one second, because, as he said, he served a very specific purpose within their system. She can’t imagine why he would lie, though.

“How was your week, then?” she says, deciding to drop it for now. “Or, Elliot’s week? Do you remember what he does at all?”

“Of course, I remember,” Mr. Robot says, adjusting his position so he’s leaning farther into the couch. It’s extremely casual, nonchalant in a way she would never see coming from Elliot.

“Not everything – I don’t need recall on how many dumps he takes. But the important stuff comes through. If it’s too terrible, I can do a little –“ he makes a snipping motion with his fingers. “Editing.”

“You can host those memories, so Elliot doesn’t have to bear them,” Krista corrects. “They don’t just disappear, like phrase ‘editing’ implies.”

“I mean, technically,” Mr. Robot grumbles. He doesn’t like it when Krista’s right – who is she to correct him on his own system?

“Anyway, our week was complete dogshit. They visited Angela’s grave on Thursday. Cisco’s, too.”

“They?” Krista asks.

“Elliot, Darlene, and her new squeeze, Dom,” Mr. Robot explains. “You’d think it would be awkward for Darlene’s new girlfriend to visit her dead ex-boyfriend’s final resting place, but… Dom’s a good egg. I mean, she was a cop, so she had that moral ambiguity, but she’s always been good to Darlene.”

“What about Angela? She and Elliot were childhood best friends, if memory serves,” Krista says. “How did he deal with that?”

Mr. Robot works his jaw, like he’s wrestling with what he wants to say. He runs his tongue over his teeth, stalling. Krista doesn’t press, allowing him to come forward on his own time.

“You have no idea, do you?” he asks quietly, after a long moment. Krista slowly shakes her head.

“No, of course not,” Mr. Robot mutters. “He’s been trying to force it all down, pretend it didn’t happen – and you wouldn’t let him do that shit, so better you not to know at all.”

Mr. Robot’s voice is hinging on sad, a noticeable shift from his mask of arrogance.

“See, Krista,” Mr. Robot says. “When Elliot was trapped in Mastermind’s little terrarium, he was in his perfect world. His perfect world included all the things we’re told we’re supposed to want – monogamy, white picket fence, two-point-five kids. A boring, happy, married life.”

He pauses. “With Angela.” 

Krista inhales sharply, rattled by the admission. It had to have been completely devastating, to wake up and find the supposed love of your life had been killed. Not just killed, either, but murdered in cold blood. The fact that the case had gone unsolved, as shown by the extensive news coverage, was just icing on the shit cake.

“Yeah, I know,” Mr. Robot says. “So, little guy was there, holding Elliot’s hand, making sure he didn’t completely flip shit. I was there. Mastermind was there, too, but he didn’t stick around. It’s as painful for him as it is Elliot, but Elliot was determined to stay.”

Robot takes a scratchy little breath. Krista would wager that Elliot and Mastermind weren’t the only ones it was painful for.

“They bought some cheap flowers from a vendor and cleared the weeds from her grave, ‘cause no one else is gonna do it,” he continues. “Her family’s all gone – her mom died when we were kids, her step-dad went a few years back, and her real dad… He was a brownnosing capitalist, so he got what he deserved.”

“Don’t get it twisted: I wasn’t her friend. Not the way Elliot was. I _certainly_ didn’t love her,” he says.

“But we had this – this, shall we say, understanding of each other,” Mr. Robot goes on. “I can’t even count the number of times we snuck over to her house as a kid. She took care of us in ways I sometimes couldn’t – even I can’t pluck a safe home environment out of the air. She had heart, and a good head on her shoulders. And she was smart. And crazy young. It’s a real fucking shame.”

He drags a slow hand across his face, pulling at his skin to make it snap back. If Krista didn’t know better, she might hand him the box of tissues.

“ _Those who walk uprightly enter into peace; they find rest as they lie in death,”_ Mr. Robot says softly. He’s looking past Krista now, giving the wall behind her a thousand-yard stare. “If anyone deserves some rest after all this, it’s Angela.”

He’s quiet for a long time after that, stewing in thought. Krista lets him, taking the time to put a synopsis of what he had said on paper. She has a feeling that, unlike Elliot, he doesn’t need to be lifeguarded from his thoughts while in session.

“That’s Scripture,” Krista says finally. “Isaiah, right?” Though she strives to let people experience therapy in the way that works best for them, they only have so much time, and there’s still the issue of why she’s talking Mr. Robot at all.

Mr. Robot cocks his head at her. “Yeah,” he says. He scratches at stubble that isn’t there. “Huh. Never pegged you as religious.”

“Not anymore,” Krista says. “My mother was a Witness, though.”

Mr. Robot makes a face. “And you’re recovering nicely?”

Krista snorts. “I am, yes. I didn’t expect you to be religious, either?”

“No, I’m not. None of us are,” he says, referring to the system. “But the Bible – and all the Holy books, for that matter – go on and on about peace after death.”

Mr. Robot laughs dryly. “And I just hope to God she’s at peace, Krista. I hope they’re all at peace.”

Krista nods. “Is that why I’m speaking to you, and not Elliot? Was the experience of seeing Angela that way, at peace, too much for him?”

Mr. Robot shakes his head, throwing his hands in the air dejectedly. “I told you he swapped with me on the train – “

“Mr. Robot, whatever it is, you don’t have to lie to me,” Krista cuts in. “I won’t be angry or upset. You’re just doing your job by being here in his place, I understand that. I only want to know why.”

“I – fuck. You’re too good at this shit,” Mr. Robot mutters. He leans back in his seat, having edged forward while talking. “Elliot’s been gone for five days. It’s the longest I’ve had the wheel since he woke up.”

_And you’re afraid,_ Krista mentally fills in. _That’s why you lied. You’re afraid of why he left, and afraid you might reset the progress he’s made._

“Five days – that’s Thursday. And Thursday is when you visited Angela, correct?” Krista asks.

“Yeah. There’s a correlation there, I’m sure, but he was fading since he filled this out,” Mr. Robot says. He roots around in his pocket until he comes up with a crumpled sheet of blue paper – the medication list.

Krista reaches for it. An antidepressant, an antipsychotic and a benzodiazepine had been circled in thick black pen.

“I don’t understand,” Krista admits, a confused crease forming between her eyes. “Why would a medication sheet make Elliot give up control?”

“He thinks we’re crazy, you know that,” Mr. Robot says, sounding like he was teetering on the edge of frustration. “Shit, Mastermind had himself convinced he was a goddamn schizo! He got to thinking about why he needed the medications in the first place, why he needs you, and it sent him in a downward spiral. Visiting Angela was just the straw that broke his brain.”

“He’s not crazy,” Krista says. She wouldn’t call any mentally ill person _crazy._ Not only was it insensitive, it suggested a total lack of autonomy that very rarely, if ever, was the case.

“I fucking know that! And even if he was, who the hell cares? It’s not like being cuckoo for cocoa puffs makes you less of a person!” Mr. Robot says. “But I’m not the problem here. Elliot got to thinking he was Heath Ledger’s Joker-level deranged, and he decided he was unfit to control the body anymore.”

“He’s afraid, Krista,” Mr. Robot sighs. “Afraid of hurting himself, of hurting Darlene, of hurting you or the world at large. _That’s_ the bottom line. Our headspace is safe, and even though me and Mastermind put in a whole lot of work, the outside world is not.”

“And it never will be,” Krista says. “Not completely. Surely, he understands that. Hiding from it all isn’t going to make it go away.”

“You’re talking to me like I’m him,” Mr. Robot says sharply. “I know these things, Krista, I swear to God I do. I wouldn’t be here in his place if I didn’t. But I’m not the one who needs to learn to navigate on the outside. I’m not the one who’s been tucked up in the attic all year, dreaming of paradise. I’ve been out in the goddamn trenches, fighting to keep us alive!”

Krista’s clock strikes one, marking the end of their session. Unlike the day she spent with Little Elliot, she has a client after Mr. Robot. And as much as she wants to keep him right there, safe and in her sights, to work everything out, she does have responsibilities to other people.

“That’s our time, I’m afraid,” Krista says. She shuts her legal pad.

“Fuck, is that it?” Mr. Robot asks. He touches his nose bridge, adjusting invisible glasses. “Time just flies when you’re having fun,” he mutters. 

Krista smooths the crumpled blue paper over her lap. “I’m going to fill these,” she says. “I hope Elliot will come out on his own, before the next session but you call me if he doesn’t. Elliot still has my number?”

“I’m sure,” Mr. Robot says. A look of panic washes over his face, but it’s gone as quickly as it’s there.

“He _will_ come back out, Mr. Robot,” Krista says firmly. “I’ll make sure of that. But until then, you take good care of him, and yourself, okay? Promise?”

Mr. Robot does something unexpected, then. He reaches across the space between them and squeezes Krista hand. It’s the only physical contact Krista’s had with Elliot’s body since the fluke of a hug with Mastermind.

“Promise,” he says.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRULY loved writing this chapter. i love imagining what elliot's every day life looks like past s4. you've gotta have conflict to make a good story, of course, but i hope he's safe and happy and healing :)
> 
> pls enjoy <33 soooo grateful for all ur kudos n comments :D

“You could do what Elliot did – or, fuck, that wasn’t even him, was it?” Darlene garbles, stuffing her mouth with another heaping spoonful of oatmeal. From over her shoulder, Dom pulls a disgusted face.

“Babe, please. Don’t talk with your mouth full,” she says, reaching between them to pull Mr. Robot’s empty bowl away from him.

“God, fine.” Darlene gives in, swallowing thickly and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “You’re such a fucking _mother._ ”

“I’m such a civilized human being, you mean,” Dom says, but she’s smiling, so they all know the comment doesn’t mean anything. She turns around towards the sink, and Darlene takes the opportunity to swat her on the ass.

“We’re all Elliot,” Mr. Robot says, to answer Darlene’s original question. He feels like he’s been saying that a lot lately, trying to get everyone to wrap their heads around the concept. “But no, that wasn’t _your_ Elliot who decided it would be a good idea to stalk me via lucid dreaming.”

“Leave it to Mastermind to pull a stunt like that, huh?” Darlene says, flashing him a grin. She’d seemingly given up all pretenses about gossiping over the other alters, even while they weren’t around to defend themselves. Mr. Robot found it very sisterly of her – and very funny. He grins back.

“Coffee’s done,” Dom announces, the syllables drawling out a bit of her New Jerseyan twang. She takes the pot off the machine and dangles it in her hand like a waitress. She gestures it in his direction. “You want another cup, Mr. Robot?”

“That’d be nice, thanks,” he replies, scooting his mug across the countertop of the breakfast bar. Dom smiles at him and pours a new cup, the steam curling around her fingers as she hands it back to him.

They’d entered into a sort of symbiosis; he, Darlene and Dom. It had been awkward as hell explaining that no, Elliot wasn’t home at the moment, but barring the initial confusion, they’d quickly established an easy rhythm. He knew it was similar for Elliot; and that made it simple enough to fall back into. Though, Elliot _did_ tend to get babied by the two women a lot more than Mr. Robot did. Honestly, he probably needed the attention.

Mr. Robot would go as far to say they all made a little family, but he’d rather die than admit that out loud.

At his feet, Flipper whines.

“You don’t want any of this, girl,” Mr. Robot tells the dog. “Smells good, but it’d tear right through ya.”

He stretches his leg to scritch behind her ears with his socked foot. She sighs a deep doggy sigh and sandwiches her head between her paws, like the whole canine world is ending because she isn’t allowed any coffee.

“Such a drama queen,” Darlene says of the dog. “She gets it from you, you know.”

“Mm-hm,” Mr. Robot hums over his mug. Personally, he doesn’t know how the hell they managed to get Flipper back. When they went to prison, he had assumed the little dog was returned to her shitheel owner and hadn’t given it a second thought. But one day, not long after Elliot had woken up, Darlene had come home with a squirming bundle, and out had popped Flipper, barking happily and wagging her tail.

Mastermind had been ecstatic, Elliot liked her, and Mr. Robot would admit that he wasn’t opposed, either. She was good company, and with enough trips outside, had finally kicked that shitting in the house habit.

“So, what _are_ you gonna do?” Darlene asks. “Just… stick around?”

Mr. Robot snorts through a sip of coffee. “Sick of me already?”

Darlene crosses her arms over her chest, drawing her ridiculously fuzzy bathrobe tighter around herself. “You know I didn’t mean it like that,” she says softly.

His relationship with Darlene was… interesting. Not long ago, she had been afraid of him, and what it meant for her brother when he took over. She had seen him as an imposter; a threat to the person she cared so deeply for. She hadn’t understood that Elliot needed him as much as he needed oxygen – she had seen Mr. Robot as only looking out for his own interests, which, of course, didn’t always line up with hers.

In the fsociety days, they had maintained a coworker-like relationship, though Mr. Robot could never completely suppress his feelings of fondness for her. He had known her almost as long as Elliot had, after all. He wanted her safe and happy, too.

Now, though, they were closer than ever. They could joke and laugh together, have conversations like real related people, and Darlene found his fancy for appletinis amusing, with the amount of times green apple schnapps ended up on their shopping list.

But as much as she liked Mr. Robot, he was never going to be her brother. Not completely.

“I know you didn’t,” Mr. Robot says, already regretting the offhanded remark. He shakes his head.

“Krista said to let him come out on his own, but you know how goddamn stubborn he can be. I guess I’ll have to go to him,” he says.

Dom finishes washing their dishes and dries her wet hands on her jeans. She returns to the breakfast bar and wraps her arms around Darlene, resting her head on her girlfriend’s shoulder.

“What does that mean, exactly?” Dom asks, in an innocently curious way.

Dom was all new to the world of the Aldersons, and it was clear she was interested. She knew they had been through some shit, and Robot was sure there had been details splurged in late-night pillow talk, but that was all from Darlene’s side. Elliot and their system were the big-ticket item. Given how Dom had worked on the fsociety case, spending so many months trying to crack open Elliot Alderson, Mr. Robot really couldn’t blame her for having questions.

“Dom…” Darlene murmurs. Her eyes flick to Robot, trying to gauge his reaction. He shrugs.

“S’okay. She can ask,” he says. He presses a finger to his head. “It’s all up here, Dom. I’ll spare you the psychobabble, but it’s… safe there, y’know. Almost like a dreamworld, but more tangible. Everything’s what we need when we need it.”

Dom nods like this makes sense. Maybe it even does.

“But… it’s not real, at the end of the day,” Mr. Robot goes on. He belatedly notices the tiredness in his own voice.

“It doesn’t have any consequences. Time doesn’t change – the skies are always blue. It’s nice, yeah, and I don’t mind it when I’m not behind the wheel. But for Elliot… it’s not a good place to be long-term.”

“He’ll get too used to it,” Dom says.

“Exactly,” Mr. Robot says. “Elliot isn’t the bravest of souls. If he feels like he can turn tail every time the going gets tough, what’s the point of ever coming out?”

“I wonder what that would be like, to have a place to retreat to like that,” Dom says. “To have a place all your own, completely removed from the world.”

Mr. Robot runs a hand through his hair. “It’s… strange,” he says. “Comforting like nothing else, but also terrifying to know you could just slip away.”

Breakfast wraps up, Darlene puts on some Netflix background noise, and Dom leaves for her day job at the Department of Justice. She’d given up her position at the FBI after returning to the States, saying that she’d grown tired of the pressures of being an agent. They’d respectfully dismissed her with a recommendation for a job in the division of child exploitation, and she said she felt as though she was finally making a real impact.

Darlene codes websites from home. It’s not the thrill fsociety was, but it’s stable, and it pays well. John Mulaney wraps up his segment on the Salt and Pepper diner on the TV as Mr. Robot retreats to his room. Flipper trots faithfully behind.

The room is sparse, the way their old apartment was, but there are a few new indulgences Mastermind would never have on his own. A record player and a small collection of vinyl sit in on a shelf. More colorful clothes hang in the closet. A new, undamaged laptop charges on the corner desk.

Flipper settles into her stupidly expensive doggy bed and peers up at him with sweet, dark eyes. She cocks her head at him expectantly.

“I know,” Mr. Robot says. He gives her pat on the head, cherishing the sound of her tail picking up speed. “I’d better get on with it.”

Their body is still dressed in the sweats Elliot wears to bed, but he figures, fuck it. Elliot won’t appreciate it, with the clock creeping towards noon, but he’s not around to bitch just yet. It’s not like Mr. Robot himself cares, anyway – to his eye, he’s infinitely dressed in four layers, two scarves and the jacket of his namesake. Just the way he likes it.

Mr. Robot crawls into the bed. It’s unmade from the night before, because he had never been fond of menial housekeeping. The blankets smell of the detergent Dom buys, and if Mr. Robot were to dwell on it too long, he would find himself slipping back in time, to memories of hiding under a Spiderman-patterned duvet with an itty Darlene. He closes his eyes.

What had Mastermind called it? _Mind awake, body asleep?_ If nothing else, the kid loved his idioms.

Mr. Robot never had a need for them. When he opens his eyes again, he’s on the beach. The faux wedding had been cleared away, and the sun is shining high in the sky. Waves gently lap at the shore behind him. He doesn’t need to check his phone to know the time is 11:16.

“Come on out, Elliot,” he says, knowing they can all hear him. “My shift’s over – it’s your turn, kiddo.”

Eight-year-old Elliot and Magda appear before him. Rules of time and space only applied if you wanted them to in the headspace, and Magda had always been a right-here, right-now kind of gal.

“Where is he?” he asks her. She sniffs unhappily at him.

“Poor boy’s been through enough already,” she says, lighting herself a cigarette. She cups her hand over the lighter flame to shield it from the ocean breeze. “Let him rest for a while, won’t you?”

Mr. Robot rolls his eyes. It wasn’t like he had just spent the year sleeping, or anything.

“How about you?” he asks Little Elliot. “Where’s the big guy, huh?”

“Went home,” the child Elliot says simply. He takes his mother’s unoccupied hand and swings it back and forth. The fact that she doesn’t pull away in disgust says a lot about their mental state. They need the comfort from one another.

“Home,” Mr. Robot echoes. Home is where the heart is. Home is where the _trauma_ is. “Thanks, bud.”

“I still think you should leave him be,” Magda says. “Didn’t that Krista woman say to let him be?”

“I know him better,” Mr. Robot says, turning away. “He dipped on toe into the outside and decided it wasn’t for him. He needs to take a running dive, get over his fear of the shock.”

“Be nice,” Little Elliot advises. “He likes it when you’re nice.”

Mr. Robot determinedly adjusts his cap and starts his trek off the beach. “Okay. Yeah,” he says, though he’s sure the young Elliot and Magda have already left the beach. “I can be nice.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh gosh sorry for the wait everybody! thanks for being patient with me, and for all ur continued support :) 
> 
> tw for implied childhood sexual abuse in this chapter

Nice. Nice, nice, nice, he can be nice.

He can be anything Elliot needs him to be, that’s been proven time and time again. His whole purpose is laid out for him, and he can be fucking _nice,_ if he has to be.

Momentarily distracted, Mr. Robot’s surroundings start to repeat themselves. He’s losing his train of thought, and if he’s not careful, he’ll end up right back at the beach again. Briefly, he thinks of Elliot’s – of his – childhood home, and when he takes his next step, he lands in the driveway.

The house is in a state of disrepair, all rotting boards and fallen shingles. The mailbox is tipped over, rusted and bent, and the FORECLOSED sign is so old, you can no longer make out the face of the smiling realtor. It might have been interesting if it wasn’t so alarming.

On the outside, the former Alderson family home had been purchased and upkept, with some new weird dad lurking within the walls. During their last visit, when Mastermind still had the reigns, the house had been picture-perfect, a sitcom-y reflection of what it really was.

But this? Mr. Robot had never this seen before. He’s immediately uneasy. He doesn’t like not knowing what to expect, not having a plan – some hold over from Elliot’s fascination with control, he guesses.

In a moment of weakness, he thinks about turning around. Retreating to the real world until this – whatever _this_ is – fixes itself. For once, just once, not being the one to piece everything back together.

But he’s not stupid. He knows this will only fester and swell, bloating up from the inside out, until the body had some kind of nervous breakdown. It’s happened before, and it’s only resulted in a fractured system someone has to repair, whether it be himself or someone like Krista. It’s an unnecessary headache that will take months, or, God forbid, years, to set right again.

Robot steps up to the house. It makes him almost nauseous, and he grips the handrail so hard his knuckles blanch, bright and unnaturally white. He remembers everything, even more than Elliot or Mastermind did. The only alter who might feel worse is Little Elliot, who sometimes existed in a constant state of trauma-bearing.

Mr. Robot swallows deeply, fighting the urge to run, scream, or vomit. Or all three. He had always been an overachiever.

He forces himself up the steps, and into the house. The state inside is similar – rotten, knocked over furniture, broken picture frames holding torn family photos, the eyes scratched out in angry black pen. If he were to run his finger over any smooth surface, it’d come up dusty.

“Elliot?” Mr. Robot calls, naïvely hoping he’ll just come on out, and that’ll be the end of it. “Elliot, it’s me. We gotta go home – home for real, not whatever this haunted house is supposed to be.”

No response.

Mr. Robot sighs, taking off his cap to run a hand through his hair. He starts up the stairs to Elliot’s bedroom, and, out of muscle memory, skips the squeaky one near the top. 

_The more things change…_

“Elliot,” Mr. Robot tries again. “Elliot, come on.”

To himself, he mutters, “This place gives me the fuckin’ creeps.”

Mr. Robot pauses outside of the door to their childhood bedroom. Curiously, the wood on this door looks brand-new, a sore thumb with its bright, freshly painted white. From here he can see Darlene’s old nursery, in the same neglectful state as – almost - everything else. He knocks softly, and the door swings open for him.

The bedroom is in perfect condition. It’s pristine, but recognizable, like not an iota had changed since 1994. Elliot sits on the now tiny for him twin bed, his back to Robot, hunched in on himself, bent over so his knees graze his chest. The Mastermind is next to him, black hood pulled over his head.

Elliot hugs himself tightly to keep from shaking too hard. Mr. Robot feels his heart shattering, like glass thrown onto tile.

Mastermind senses him before Elliot does, looking over his shoulder with a colorless, unreadable expression. His eyes are dull, sad. He slowly, slowly shakes his head.

Mr. Robot steps closer, purposefully making his presence known. Elliot whips his head up, eyes wide, and stares at Robot like a deer might stare down the hunter's gun.

“Hey, kiddo.”

_“You’re sick,” Mom says, when she thinks he and Darlene have gone to bed for the night. “You’re a goddamn monster, and I want you out of this fucking house before the kids get up in the morning. You’re lucky I’m not calling the police.”_

_“You can’t do that,” Dad says in an angry whisper. “You can’t even take care of them without me.”_

_“The hell I can’t!” Mom argues. “The hell I fucking can’t. You heard what the doctor told us – someone’s been hurting Elliot. He doesn’t have any other friends but_ you.”

_“It could have been anyone,” Dad says. “You have no proof – you’re going to kick me out over a little intuition? Be reasonable, Magda.”_

_Dad reaches out and strokes Mom’s arm, the way she liked. She wriggles away, but he catches her, gently, and pulls her close to him. Elliot strokes at his casted arm in the same spot – Dad had done that to him, too. Pulled him close that way._

_“Ed…” Mom says. “You have to promise me.”_

_“Promise you what, baby?” Dad says, and his voice is low – rumbly. Mom can probably feel it with her whole body, with her head pressed close to his chest that way. Elliot had felt it. It reminded him of a far-off train, or the expensive, remote-controlled beds in the mall._

_Mom’s voice is so quiet, Elliot has to strain to hear her. He almost wants to creep closer, but he can’t risk getting caught like this. It’s way past his bedtime, what with the wait they had in the hospital._

_“You promise me it wasn’t you,” Mom says. She turns to Dad, holding both of his big hands in hers. They used to do that a lot, back when Elliot was still toddling around. When Darlene was nothing but a bump in Mom’s belly. When Mom actually made dinner, and ate it with them, like the other families did. They used to dance to Dad’s records, hands clasped together. Sweet, slow circles, round and round the living room._

_“Of course not,” Dad promises. Mom and Dad kiss, then, and Elliot turns away, knowing he’s not supposed to see that. There was a reason Dad always shut and locked Elliot’s bedroom door._

Elliot doesn’t seem to hear Mr. Robot, looking right past him – through him. Mr. Robot turns, following his gaze. The nauseous feeling returns.

The fated window, the one Elliot had thrown himself from, stands in all its broken, jagged glory. In reality, it had been fixed with a quickness, the repairmen coming while Elliot laid in bed, nursing his broken arm. The new glass had been shatter-proof, and no one asked Elliot if his cast and his window had any correlation.

Flakes of fresh snow fall in from the window, though when Mr. Robot had been outside, there was no indication of winter.

“Why?” Elliot whispers. Tears build in his eyes and fall down his cheeks, fat droplets splattering, staining his jeans. He doesn’t seem to notice. “Why did this happen to me?”

Mr. Robot sucks in a breath and exhales slowly, trying to scrounge up any kind of composure. He exchanges a look with Mastermind, who only shakes his head again. He’d been through this himself.

“You threw yourself out the window,” Mr. Robot says carefully. “To feel like you had control. To win one game against the monster.”

“Dad… he was my monster,” Elliot murmurs. It’s not so much of a question as it is a statement, but Robot nods his head anyway.

“Yes. Your dad was our monster,” Mr. Robot says. “He’s why I came to be.”

“My firewall,” Elliot says. His voice is distant-sounding, lost. “You… shielded me.”

“As much as I could,” Mr. Robot says. “I swear to God, Elliot, I did as much as I could.”

_Mr. Robot cradles Elliot in his arms while he tries to sleep, take a mid-afternoon nap while he’s still excused from school. They’re both drained, Elliot from emotional turmoil, Robot from trying to deal with it, as newly born as he was. There’s a knock at the door, and Mr. Robot bolts upright, on high alert. Elliot whines, shielding his eyes from whatever’s on the other side._

_“Hey, kiddo?” Edward Alderson’s voice comes from the other side of the door. “Can I come in?”_

_Mr. Robot answers before Elliot can. “No.”_

_But Elliot’s dad never took no for an answer. There’s a rattling of the doorknob as Edward uses his master key to unlock it. It swings open, and he stands there, a wolf wrapped in worn, tucked-in flannel and soft, tattered jeans._

_“Hey,” Edward says. “How’re you feeling?”_

_Elliot whimpers, and Mr. Robot shushes him, rubs his back soothingly._

_“Like shit,” Mr. Robot answers thinly, curling his lip. What a disgusting little worm Edward was. Sickly and sick, a dead man walking._

_“Watch your mouth,” Edward says. “I know you’re not feeling too good, but that’s no reason to get fresh.”_

_Mr. Robot says nothing, glancing down at Elliot, who is all but shaking in fear._

_“Your mom’s out for the afternoon,” Edward says, and Elliot’s whole body goes rigid. His reaches for Mr. Robot and grips his jacket hard, pleading with no words spoken._

_For the briefest moment, Mr. Robot thinks he might have to commit a murder._

_“I figure we can go to the movies?” Edward goes on, and Elliot relaxes, if only a bit. “We haven’t been in so long – we used to go all the time, remember?”_

_“Fine,” Mr. Robot spits. He doesn’t remember, and he doesn’t want to._

_“Go to sleep,” he tells Elliot softly. “Let me worry about this.”_

Elliot says nothing for a long moment, watching the snow dance its way down to earth.

“You want me to go back, don’t you?” he asks after a while. “Back out there, where everything’s made to hurt me. You want me to deal with it all again.”

“We have to go home, Elliot,” Mr. Robot says. “This isn’t home. Not anymore.”

He steps closer to the bed and reaches for Elliot, resting his hand on one bony shoulder. It had been two decades since Elliot allowed himself to be held like that, but Robot had never forgotten it. It was one of their first memories together, of Robot stepping up to the plate as a protector. He would never forget that trust.

Elliot doesn’t relax, but he doesn’t push Mr. Robot away, either.

“This hasn’t been home in a long time,” Mastermind says, and Robot and Elliot look at him, surprised. He had been watching and waiting, considering the situation the way he did, biding his time to weigh in.

“Maybe it never was home,” he goes on. “Look at how it’s rotten, Elliot. The rot will get in here, too – eat you alive. I’ve been where you are. I fell apart when you were stuck in the loop. Hard as it may seem, you can keep on living.”

“Why should I believe you?” Elliot says. “All you – both of you – have ever done is lie to me. I could go back out there and – and –“

“Breathe, kid,” Mr. Robot warns. He’s not quite sure how the body will handle Elliot’s panic attack, and he doesn’t want to find out.

Elliot gasps like a fish out of water. He wipes at the new tears that spring to his eyes.

“We lied, yeah,” Mastermind said. “But we had a reason to. You weren’t ready – _we_ weren’t ready. But we are now.”

_“Will you ever forgive me, Elliot?” Edward asks, coughing and spluttering._

_Mr. Robot feels Elliot stir at the mention of his name, but he quiets him, rocks him back to sleep._

_“No,” Mr. Robot says. He still has to physically look up at Edward, but he knows he towers high above him. “You’re just sick, and you don’t want to admit it.”_

_Edward hacks and wheezes, unable to catch his breath, and collapses to the ground. The popcorn bucket goes down with him, spilling kernels and candy across the carpeted movie theatre floor._

_Mr. Robot smiles, and retrieves his jacket, pulling it out from under Elliot’s unmoving father._

The door to Elliot’s bedroom opens. Eight-Year-Old Elliot stands there, holding Magda’s hand. He holds out a shiny object –

The master key.

Elliot looks around his system, at how they’ve all shown up for him. He wipes at his face again, sparing a final glance to the shattered window.

“Okay,” he says.

Mr. Robot helps Elliot off the bed, hoisting him up, supporting him so he doesn’t wobble. Mastermind is close behind. Elliot takes the key from his younger self, and they all exit from the bedroom, one behind another.

Elliot pulls the door shut, locks it. The click, the sliding of pistons into their slots, is final.

“Let’s go home,” he says.


	6. Chapter 6

“Elliot?” Krista’s voice is gentle, as it always is, but Elliot startles anyway.

“Sorry,” she says. “You went away.” She crosses her legs, settling herself. The weather has started to warm, not spring but getting there, and her pretty blue blouse is short-sleeved.

‘Went away’ was probably the easiest way to put it. He wasn’t going to argue the point that he was still here, really, when he dove into his own mind. He didn’t know what to call it. It was like dreaming, almost, with the way time worked, but it was also much more tangible than that. He was slowly learning to do it on command, the way Mr. Robot could, so it was more like purposeful travel than anything else.

Naming things was a slippery slope, anyway.

“I was just saying how well you’ve been doing,” Krista says. “Taking your meds, staying sober, coming here. You’re making great strides, Elliot. I’m very proud of you.”

Elliot can’t help the heat the rises in his chest – he’s sure he’s blushing. Mr. Robot told him how proud he was all the time, in not so many words. This felt different, though. A deliberate compliment, one he hadn’t received since early high school, at least.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

“Are you going to tell her we’re here, or what?” Mr. Robot asks, mildly impatient. “I know you like her and all, but…”

“But you still don’t,” Mastermind fills in. “I told you this could get messy, Elliot, if _some_ people were going to be difficult.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Mr. Robot says, rolling his eyes. There’s no heat in his voice. He just loves to mess with Mastermind.

“Language!” Magda snaps at him, covering Little Elliot’s ears. Little Elliot giggles.

“Elliot,” Krista says again, and they all turn to her.

Elliot’s head buzzes, there’s so much going on at once. But this was his idea, though now that he thinks about it, it wouldn’t have hurt to run it by Krista. In any case, they were all here now, and he’s determined to keep them for at least a few minutes.

“Are you okay?” Krista says. “You’ve been going in and out all session –“

“I, uh,” Elliot says. It still sounds so crazy to him, to say that he had to fetch his imaginary friends. “They’re here. Everyone.”

Krista glances around the room, as if she might be able to see his system if she looked hard enough. Robot grins, knowing they were for Elliot’s eyes alone. Mastermind also looks sort of pleased.

“Everyone?” She quickly flips back through her notes. “Your younger self? And the mother?”

Magda makes a face. “I have a name,” she says.

“Yes,” Elliot says. God, they’re all so _loud_ when they’re together like this.

“Oh,” Krista says. She momentarily finds herself at a loss. What could they all be here together for?

“I just… I don’t know,” Elliot says. He scrubs a hand through his hair, his favorite tick. “You remember, when I came back the first time, you said you wanted to talk to ‘em all. This is that, I guess.”

He shrugs. Maybe this was stupid. To his left, he can feel Mr. Robot start to fume, taking any excuse to get mad at Krista. He doesn’t try to hold him back – his feelings are kind of hurt, and it was better to let Robot get angry than start to cry.

“Elliot, I apologize,” Krista says sincerely. “I assumed you weren’t ready for that. If that’s what you want, that’s what I’m here for, okay?”

Mr. Robot settles, like a guard dog told to heel, and relief ripples through the system.

They could feel everything Elliot was feeling, and dealt with it in different ways, with Mr. Robot being the most potent force among them. His anger was sculpted from the feelings of discomfort from anyone, but mostly Elliot and Mastermind.

There’s a few moments of silence. Mr. Robot clears his throat, and Magda glares at him. Mastermind looks at Elliot, and, in a moment of silent understanding, Elliot nods.

“Hi, Krista,” Mastermind says. A ghost of a smile passes over his face.

Krista blinks. The change is so sudden, so _seamless,_ and much more subtle than the switch between Elliot and Mr. Robot.

“I haven’t been out in a while,” Mastermind says softly. “How are you?”

“How am I,” Krista says, shaking her head. He – all of them – had been through so much trial, and yet were still worried about her well-being. Every part of Elliot Alderson was so truly good, it boggled her mind.

“I’m well. Engaged, actually.” She holds up her left hand. The ring’s diamond catches the light, winking at Mastermind.

“Congratulations,” he says softly. He’s never been gladder that he got her away from Flipper’s old owner, the one with the escorts. She’s found someone, now. Her path out of loneliness.

“Thank you,” she says. “You’re taking care of yourself?”

“Yes,” he says, without hesitation. “We all are.”

“Is that what made the difference? In coming out to see me?”

Mastermind nods. “When Elliot went away, we all had to show up for him. He feels safe. He knows I won’t take his life from him anymore.”

“I’m so glad,” Krista says, meaning it. She sniffles, fishes for a Kleenex in her purse, and dabs at her eyes with it.

She didn’t mean to get so emotional, but Elliot – no, Mastermind – had finally found his place. He’d always complained of feeling out of sorts, like he didn’t belong. And now he did. It wasn’t every day she saw a client who found exactly what they were looking for.

“It was good to see you,” he says, and then he’s no longer fronting, because Elliot’s eyes narrow, glaring at her.

“You’ve been seeing to my son,” Magda says sharply, all business.

“Yes,” Krista says. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Magda doesn’t return the sentiment. “I wanted to see who exactly you were, after hearing all about you.”

There’s a pause, Magda’s eyes roaming over Krista. “You’re well put together.”

“Thank you,” Krista says, trying not to sound too puzzled. This was a protector personality, that much was clear, but she hadn’t always been. The anger of a persecutor is still there, in the prim way she spoke and the rigid way she held her body.

“My name is Magda,” she says. “Not _mother,_ though I assume that’s most of what I am. At least to the boys.”

“I admit, I was skeptical of you, as I don’t trust your… profession,” Magda continues. “Head-shrinks are often hacks. But you did well for Elliot. I don’t think he would have reemerged without you.”

Krista nods. In a roundabout way, she was being thanked. “You’re welcome. Are you well, yourself? Do you have anything you’d like to touch on?”

“No,” Magda says, and then she’s gone.

Elliot slumps back in his seat, rubbing his head. It was difficult to switch like that, so quickly. But it had went over better than he expected. Mastermind, Magda, and Little Elliot are gone, now, all feeling pleased. Mr. Robot touches his arm – a gentle offer – but Elliot waves him away.

“Got any Advil?” he tries, and to his great relief, Krista hands him two little pills. He swallows them dry.

“It was nice to meet them,” Krista says, and it was. She wanted the most comprehensive view of Elliot she was allowed, and if he needed to vent about an alter, she wanted to be on the same page.

Elliot hums. “We’re grateful to you.”

Krista swallows the emotion that threatens to bubble up in her throat. She really shouldn’t have gotten this attached to a client; she knows that all too well. It wasn’t healthy and could turn into a mess if she wasn’t careful. But she couldn’t help it. Elliot Alderson, and all the parts that made him, were one of a kind. She loved him, like the son she'd never had. 

“Elliot –“ she says, and then stops. She doesn’t know what to say, how to wrangle all she felt about him.

If what she knew was true, and she assumed it was, he was responsible for the global financial reset. He’s the reason she can get married, as her debt being erased left money enough for a wedding. Her entire life was looking up because of him, because of this special cybersecurity engineer with dissociative identity disorder.

Before she knows what she’s doing, she’s reaching across the space between them, and pulling Elliot into a hug. It strikes her that he’s much skinnier than she would have guessed – a boy still, really. He tenses for half a second, and she almost lets go, worried she’s made a mistake. But then his arms come up around her, returning the hug. He squeezes, oh so gently, and scrunches his fingers in the fabric of her blouse. 

“Thank you for trusting me,” she says quietly. Elliot nods into her shoulder – she smells like floral perfume, like hairspray.

They stay like that for a long time, longer than they both know is normal for therapist and client. Neither care much. Elliot finally pulls away, his eyes damp.

Krista takes a moment to pull herself together, straightens her blouse and her hair.

“We can work on cohesion from this point on, if you’d like,” she says. “My idea from the beginning was to curb friction, but there doesn’t seem to be much, anymore.”

Elliot nods. They weren't always on the same page, but they weren't disjointed anymore.

She smiles. “So, if you all would like, we can set our sights on making sure everyone in the system is getting what they need. Working together, rather than alone, and leaving someone in the dark.”

That sounded fantastic to him. Even Mr. Robot is giving Krista a look, like she’d finally said something he agrees with.

“Yeah,” Elliot says. “Okay, yeah. We can do that.”

“Wonderful,” Krista says. She glances at her clock. “Oh, my. That’s our time. I’ll see you next week?”

“Yes,” Elliot says. Of course, he would. He wouldn't miss it for the world. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's all, folks! hope you enjoyed, and thank you all for your ongoing support. see you in the next one !! :)


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